


Cambridge Doesn’t Cover This Subject

by missmishka



Category: Matthias & Maxime (2019)
Genre: Gay Panic, Homophobic Language, I stan Rivette, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Matt is a frickin mess, References to homophobic violence, Rivette practicing psychology without a degree, expanded edition of Erika's video, the deleted scene I need to ship Matt/Max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmishka/pseuds/missmishka
Summary: Rivette realizes that he's missed a lot going on between Matthias and Maxime of late.  Something has gone on there, gone wrong there, and he needs to help sort it out before Max leaves for Australia.  A.k.a. the therapy session that Matt seriously needed about his sexuality after Max’s going away parties.
Relationships: Matthias Ruiz/Maxime Leduc
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	Cambridge Doesn’t Cover This Subject

**Author's Note:**

> I want to want Matt & Max to be together, but the movie was missing a vital scene or ten to get me fully on board this ship. This is, essentially, my vision of a deleted scene to get Matt's head out of his own ass. From Rivette's perspective because Rivette is my favorite. Period. It may be a bit choppy in flow, but it’s cathartic for me. Buckle in, it kind of roller-coasters.

Marc-Antoine Rivette does not normally think of himself as stupid, but as the video on his laptop ends he realizes that he has been an oblivious asshole. 

His friend group had always been closer than some might consider normal, but their enjoyment of physical closeness was just one of the many reasons they had so much fun together. It was never sexual, though, that he had known of. While he might have had moments of attraction over the years to Frank, Matthias or Shariff, he'd never acted on it or suspected that any of the other guys might be gay, bisexual or questioning. He’d been so blatant with his coming out at 15 that he likes to think they would have talked to him at some point, if he hadn’t always been the lone gay boy of the group. 

He hadn’t known about Matt and Max’s kiss freshman year, though. He hadn’t known why they were so uncomfortable with the roles that Erika had wanted them to play for her film. He hadn’t known what the fuck was up Matthias's ass beyond the usual stick that kept him rigidly in line with Mr. Ruiz's plans for his only son.

After the shitshows at both Francine and Shariff's respective farewell parties for Maxime, though, Marc had gotten curious about what all he had been oblivious to.

He had started by talking this afternoon to Frank. A serious talk that neither of them were really comfortable with, but it was for Max, so they got past any joking pretty quickly. Part of Marc would always hate just how serious their conversation had gotten.

Matthias had always been a bit of an outlier of their group. Matt’s father had had business dealings with Marc's dad and their wives had become friends, so to, naturally, had their sons. Marc knew he was likely the only friend of Matt’s who had the Mr. Ruiz seal of approval. Matt had not had the best sense of humor or been as free with affection as the other guys, but he had been one of theirs for so long that they all loved him and never even thought of excluding him. Mostly because they had known Max would likely leave their group, too. Max and Frank were like brothers, but they'd all known for years that Max was most loyal to Matt. No one had questioned it or looked too closely at it because their group was happy. _Why look for trouble?_

That’s where Marc had been oblivious.

Where he had been an asshole was in how he mocked the kissing scene when Erika debuted her “film" at their mother's dinner party. In how he’d just been too willing to let it go that night during the meal when he could tell something was wrong with Matt but let the guy shrug off him concern.

Max leaving for Australia had thrown everyone off balance. There was something different about it, a more extreme departure from the group than even Marc's now seven years in Cambridge pursuing his PhD. 

For Shariff, focused on his doctorate and Brass, focused on not being focused, the ripples from Max’s decision hadn’t hit either of them too hard. Frankie’s temper, though, had been noticeably shorter and his drug use slightly increased since Maxime proved that he was seriously going away. Marco hadn’t noticed anything of note about Matt, though, and as a future psychologist he was mentally kicking his own ass for that.

By talking to Frank about _that night,_ he had remembered when Matt had tried breaking away from them all for a while there after that freshman party. He felt like that was a vital piece to his current puzzle. The need for another essential piece had forced Marc to do the very painful task of asking his sister to see her raw footage from the cabin. After agreeing to her demand to “just go out for one fucking cup of coffee" with her annoyingly persistent friend Matisse, she had sent him a memory card of the video with a note demanding that he not enjoy it too much and absolutely no posting to PornHub. Apparently, she had had quite a struggle keeping Matisse from doing that last part.

Marc had watched more than a few videos like it on the adult website. His personal preferences may be daddies and rougher fare, but every now and again an amateur video of younger, allegedly “straight" guys getting off together could pique his interest. Watching his two friends go from awkwardly sitting next to each other, staring at the camera to turning toward each other and leaning in for a kiss was amusing. He thought about how they’d gotten in that situation and it still tickled his juvenile funny bone.

Until they kissed.

The little snippets that he had seen in Erika’s mess of imagery passing as her pretentious short film attempt had shown heated kissing between Matt and Max, but the unedited footage? Heavy breathing, sloppy wet kisses and faint moans when the passion is real creates a soundtrack that no professional porno can replicate and his friends made an abundance of those sounds. They'd practically devoured each other, mouths against mouths and jaws and cheeks and ears and necks until clothing got in the way of skin. Their hands had moved wildly, holding and touching then tearing at clothes. When Maxime had moved to straddle Matt, the blue shirt cast aside on the floor with his loosened pants sagging down on his ass, Marc had had to look away and press a palm hard against the erection that he did not want to have from witnessing this. A loud thud, Matt repeatedly saying “No" and an abrupt crashing of the camera had drawn Marc’s attention back to his computer. He had replayed it, skipping to the final moments where Matt’s hands go from grabbing Max’s ass to suddenly, furiously shoving the man off him. The thud had been Max hitting the floor without any time to brace or stop himself. Max took a moment to catch his breath while Matt sat on the sofa tugging at his hair. Then Max moved to do or say something. Matt lunged from his seat and nearly kicked Max as he stepped over the prone man to flee the room and in the process of flinching away from the retreating man's foot, Max hit the tripod and knocked the camera over.

_A fucking train wreck. Definitely not the kind of ending anyone would want to see on PornHub._

There was no footage of Max recovering from that moment, but Marc had been there himself so it was all too easy to imagine what it had been like for his friend to pick himself up and fix his clothing. You don’t forget that hurt, confusion or self-doubt when you think things are going good with a guy only to suddenly find yourself on the ground. The only good that Marc could find in the moment for Max is that Matt hadn’t hit him or hurled some hateful words while he was down, but the fact that your best friend just knocked you on your ass like that negated that positive point.

Marc had been 16 when he’d made his first and worst mistake with a hockey player from another school. The boy had freaked out when they'd been making out at a party and Marc’s hand had slipped under the waist of the player's jeans to touch his ass. The guy had sprung up like he’d been hit by a taser, thrown Marc to the floor, kicked him in the crotch and ribs while spewing hate about how a “buttlicking faggot" wasn’t getting anywhere near his ass then stormed out with Marc, sobbing, curled into the smallest ball that he could manage.

_Far from his favorite memory._

His hands are shaking as he closes his laptop and any erection that he had had is long gone. He feels nauseous and shifts to drop his head down between his knees while he focuses on breathing deeply. 

His first instinct is to call Max, but he has no idea what he would say and the last thing he wants to do is say the wrong thing. His head is a mess and the only clear question in the maddening swirl is, _Why didn’t you say anything?_ That’s too close to victim blaming. He knows that Maxime despises anyone looking at him as a “victim" of anything and Marc could just be projecting his past trauma on what he’d seen, so he couldn’t trust himself not to make matters worse if he went to Max. 

It just boggled his mind that neither of them had said or done a damned thing after filming that scene to indicate what had happened. Matt had been especially humorless in the face of the guys ribbing him and he'd done his crazy marathon swim of the lake, but there'd been no indication of _why_ he'd been off. Max, in hindsight, may have been quieter and a little uncomfortable with their joking, but they hadn’t _said **anything**_.

Scratching Max off the list, he then wanted to scream at Erika because all he had heard from her was her initial bitching about the broken camera and then raving about how “perfect" their acting had been. _For fuck's sake, she couldn’t possibly think any of that had been “acted.”_ These were his friends and she knew how he loved them, she often mocked their close relationships, _how the hell could she not tell him how the video ended_?!

He pushes to his feet and begins to furiously pace his room.. The one person that he doesn’t want to talk to right now is Matthias, so, before he knows it, Marc has his cellphone in hand and has hit that number on speed dial.

“Rivette?” Matt asks with clear confusion when he picks up at the end of the third ring.

His tone makes Marc aware that it’s a work night and well after midnight.

“You alone?” he asks with zero fucks for the time as he puts on a pair of shoes, grabs his keys and heads for the door.

“What?”

”Are. You. A. Lone?” he moves quickly to his car, getting and buckling in without losing focus on the phone against his ear.

“Yeah. Is something-" he can sense Matt waking up on the other end of the line.

“I'll be there in five minutes. Open your damned door.”

“Wh-"

Marc ends the call there, tosses his phone to the passenger seat, starts the car, strangles the steering wheel for the few seconds it takes him to suck in some calming breaths then he puts the car carefully into motion.

The time it takes him to get to Matt’s isn’t enough for him to figure out what he’s going to say, but he can’t let it go. There’s a clock ticking and Max leaves in five days. Four now, since they were past midnight. If there are issues that Matt can and will work through, that Marc can help him with, then no more time could be wasted.

When he gets to Matthias’ door, it is immediately opened for him by a tense and visibly confused friend, standing there in boxers and a tee with only a lamp on in the room behind him.

“I saw the video,” Marc bursts out. “All of it. I got it from Erika and I saw-"

“Dammit, Rivette!” Matt rears back like he’s taken a body blow and spins away into his apartment. “Your fucking sister-" 

“Hey! She has done nothing here,” Marc interrupts to defend despite his own upset toward her over this. 

“Nothing?!” Matt spins to face him as Marc slips inside and closes the apartment door. “That stupid fucking film is ruining my life! What’s next? A screening at Cannes and a press junket? It was supposed to be for her schoolwork. No one was supposed to see it!”

“What's to see, Matt? It’s barely two minutes of artsy imagery for a pretentious film project that Erika imagines is grander than it will ever be. You’re in it for mere seconds. How does that ruin your life?”

“Because they've all seen it now!”

“Seen _what_ , Matt?” Marc presses, leaning back against the door, crossing him arms over his chest and staring at the other man. “Those stupid, empty swings moving in the wind?”

“That kiss!” Matt roughly scrubs a hand over his lower face, as if still trying to erase said kiss, then all but collapses onto his couch.

“So what? That was the whole point of your part! You both said before you did it that it was no big deal, right? It was a dare for you. You had to do it, right? It was Erika’s cinematic vision. You were just playing a role, right?”

Matt’s dark eyes convey a feeling of being both haunted and hunted by these questions as he briefly meets Marc's intent stare.

“Because those are all good excuses. I believed them. Until last night.”

The man's face goes the palest that Marc has ever seen it and panic twists his features.

“How much did you see?”

“Beyond you acting like a crazy person accusing Max at cheating at fucking a fucking fishbowl game? Fighting with Frank? Or do I go back to that terrible speech at your mother’s? Or to what a dick you've been since that party at the cabin? Or maybe to what a mess you’ve been since Max announced his plans to leave?”

“But nothing else?” some color returns to his face as Matt asks that. “You didn’t see-"

“Last night?” realization strikes at how the man is reacting. “Fuck. Something more happened at the party?”

“No,” Matt denies with the quickness that always identifies his lying. “Nothing happened beyond what you saw.”

Marc finds himself wanting to punch the man and wishing now that he had called Max first. _What else had Matt done to ruin Max’s party the night before?_

“I may not be able to pull up a video this time, but I am pretty sure you’re lying again.” 

Marc moves to sit carefully on the couch with his friend, putting as much distance between them as the furniture allowed.

“It was nothing,” Matt says, finding something of interest to stare at in the corner while the fingers of his right hand fidget with the arm of the couch. “It won’t happen again.”

“Because it was nothing or because Max is leaving so it won’t happen again?”

“We're not fags, Marco!” Matt springs to his feet and begins to pace the dimly lit living room. “It’s fine for you to be, but Max and I aren’t…like that.”

Marc's jaw clenches tight at the slur. He can feel a muscle tic in his cheek before he forces himself to focus on techniques learned in his college courses and not react emotionally just because he’s dealing with a friend. The urge to punch the other man is growing stronger, though. 

“Sorry,” Matt says, his pacing stopping as Marc goes too long being silent. “I didn’t mean-" 

“No one sees it, Matthias,” Marc cuts off that bullshit.. “I watched her edit and saw two guys kissing. So what? I thought it was funny, you two having to do that for her. She doesn’t show anyone what you’re so damned scared of. I had no fucking clue until tonight, when I watched all that had been filmed.”

“Christ! Why did you watch that?”

“To try and understand why you-"

Matt barks out a sound that’s likely meant to be a laugh, but lacks any trace of humor.

“Understand. Everyone wants to understand,” he snaps. “But I don’t know, Marc! I don’t understand!”

“You think I don’t get that?” 

“Spare me your Cambridge scholar bullshit-"

“No, Matthias. I'm not psychoanalyzing you. I know what this feels like. To question-"

“There’s no ‘questioning.’ I told you that I’m not gay.” 

“OK. I believe that. But you and Max-"

“There is no ‘me and Max!’”

“Bullshit! That is one lie you cannot possibly speak!” Marc is on his feet and confronting the other man. “Max has been your friend for over twenty years now. There has _always_ been a you and Max. He loves you and it is ok for you to love him and if you have fallen in love with each other then I see that as a beautiful thing. Deny the depths of your feelings and fight a label all you want, but I swear I will break your fucking nose if you even try to say that you don’t care for him.”

He can tell that the man is giving serious thought to making such a statement and Marc’s hands clench into fists to make good on his threat. After a tense moment, Matt lets out an exasperated shout then sits back down and rubs his face with both hands.

“So I care. Like you say, he's been my friend forever. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.”

“Why? Because of your father’s master plan? Maxime has never fit with that man's ideas, but you have stayed his friend all of these years. If your father had had his way you never would have had any of us as friends. He’d see that you never had a day of fun or joy or happiness in your life. I swear I will never know what your mother saw in him.”

“He only wants what’s best-"

“UGH! Do not finish that,” Marc plops down on the couch and puts his hands dramatically over his own ears. “He never even considers what is best for _you!_ It is all about the best reflection upon him. We want what’s best for you,” he gets serious and turns to look into those dark, tormented eyes. “Francine and Max and the guys and I want you to be happy. Even Sarah would want you to figure this out. You know that, don’t you? All of this lately. We're worried and your denial is doing anyone any good.”

“I doubt Sarah would care very much if she knew.”

“Do you seriously not know how awesome she is? That woman not only puts up with you, but she’s good with us, too. Remember how Shariff's last girlfriend lost her mind over all of us being friends and spending time together ‘at your ages.’ We're slow, but I think she and I are maybe seeing the truth here at the same time. If you can be honest with her then she's not going to hate you. But if you can’t even be honest with yourself then all she, or any of us, will be left with is hurt. I don’t like seeing you hurt, Matt, and it is all that I have been seeing lately. It has to stop. Especially if you’re hurting Max, too.” 

“He's leaving, Marco. Come Friday, he’ll be gone and none of it matters any more.”

“It will always matter, Matt. If you love him then that matters to him even if he isn’t here. Hell, there are cheesy American country songs written about ‘carrying your love with me.’ It’s a real thing. Long distance relationships can work. When you left for college, Max was here for you every break when we came home and I saw that he never let it change between you. That kid's as stubborn as he is big hearted and if you think Australia could change that then let him go without knowing. Leave him thinking that you hate him.”

“I could never _hate **him**_ ,” Matt looks physically pained at the thought. He’s quiet for a minute before continuing, “At the cabin. Before the kiss,” Matt moves to stare out the window and his Adam’s apple is visible in the moonlight as it moves with his swallow before he continues. “He said he won’t come back for Christmas. All the time I've know him and we’ve never been apart for a full year and it could be longer. I can’t. The weight of that takes my breath and I can’t cope with it, Marc. He’s always been _how_ I cope with things. He could find someone there and-"

Marc struggles for a moment with the level of codependency that he’d been unaware of. As a psych major, it would be a fascinating case study, but as their friend it was just a fucking mess to try sorting out.

“That’s why he needs to know, dumbass!,” Marc finally says. “If you let him go thinking that there’s nothing here then he’ll absolutely look for it there. If that’s been your fear then you are creating a self-fulfilling prophecy! Tell him how you feel!”

“What I feel is too much!” Matt declares with such passion that his chest heaves with breaths to steady himself afterward. “I need him here, Marco,” he says much more quietly. “It’s always been this thing in me that needs him. So much. You have no idea. And since we kissed… It’s just too much.”

Marc finds himself struggling for words again. This is likely the kind of situation why there’s an emphasis in his courses on why you shouldn’t counsel family or friends.

“Which kiss?” he asks when he settles on a course of action. 

“What?”

“Since the kiss at the cabin or the kiss Frank saw freshman year?”

“Why does that matter?” Matt frowns in confusion.

“Because,” Marc moves to grab the man, holding on to each side of Matt’s face so that he couldn’t look away, “if _you_ have felt this way since freshman fucking year of high school how can a year or two apart change it? Don’t you get that? You only lose it if you let it go. Never try. If you keep this shit bottled up inside you.”

“That just makes it worse. I,” he fights frees of Marc's hold and goes back to staring out the window, “I fucked it all up. Back then. Since then. Last night! I can’t get it right and if I tell him that I've actually loved him this whole time he'll hate me.” His head drops forward against the window with a thud. “He should hate me.”

“Frank told me,” Marc turns away, not wanting to discuss this part, “about what happened after the party. Freshman year. How Max spent the night at his place, claiming that his bloody nose and busted lip were because he’d tried sneaking in late and Manon was high. 14-year-old Frankie, he accepted that without question because it wasn’t the first time that one of us harbored Max fir a night, but 27-year-old Frank? In hindsight? We figured out that Max hadn’t had time to get home between when we last saw him at the party and when he showed up at Frank's.”

Marc doesn’t say more as Matt’s devastated expression confirms that he had done whatever injuries that Max had suffered that night.

“You make it very hard to love you,” Marc seethes. “You asshole!”

He gives in to the urge this time and punches Matt in the arm.

“I freaked out!” Matt takes the hit without even seeming to feel it. “I came in my fucking pants just from kissing him and I panicked. I never meant to hurt him. Ever,” Matt’s voice and expression plead for understanding. “I hated myself so much afterwards, but he forgave me. And we were supposed to forget. None of it ever happened. I was never supposed to let it happen again.”

”Why not?” he demands. “Because denial, repression and suppression are obviously the best way to deal with this shit?”

“It’s terrifying,” Matt’s expression is back to haunted. “What happens with him. If I let myself have just a little, I lose all control. When we kiss, I feel like I would gladly fuse myself to him and never be apart again. When I make him happy or hear him moan, it’s like I live just for that. It isn’t healthy, Rivette. I'm sure Cambridge has taught you that.”

“No, that is a bit much, but you've always been intense. Max mellows that, though. He always has. If you just let go of this, like you do everything else with him, then it can only get better. It won’t be so _much_. When a dam breaks, it is at first horrific for all that comes rushing out, but the river soon returns to the way it had been meant to be. Without bullshit man-made structures trying to force nature to bend to the will of people.”

“A good analogy,” Matt smiles a little bitterly.

“Metaphor.”

“No, it’s an analogy because you’re making a point with your comparison of a physical dam to the emotional one that you’re implying that I have holding me back and how societal views on homosexuality have built that dam to stifle my natural urges.”

“Fucking grammar Nazi,” Marc groans, so relieved to feel the tension break between them.

He playfully moves to grab the man in a chokehold, ready to mock him and argue grammar some more. Matt chokes out a laugh and twists in the hold. Then, before Marc knows it, he’s wrapped tightly in the arms of his sobbing friend.

“I do. Love him. But I have to let him go.”

The words stutter out in fragments while the man feels close to shaking apart in Marc's arms. This physically pains him and no amount of school or training could guide him through what to do. So he just holds him as tightly as he can through the tumult.

“He'll be back, Matt,” Marc consoles him as the worst begins to pass, hugging him close and rubbing his back. “Just like I'll be returning to England to finish my post-graduate degree and then I’ll be back to stay. But I’m here for another week and you’ll have Frankie and Shariff and even Brass until Max returns. Your mom and, maybe, Sarah. It'll be okay. Let us help and it will be alright.”

“I hate my job,” Matt sighs several minutes later once he’s had his cry and the two of them are leaning against one another on the couch.

“I'm increasing my hourly rate if this session is going to go all night.”

They both laugh at that, but Marc gives serious thought to Matt’s words. They had all known that Matt's career hadn’t been chosen by his own personal wants or interests, it had been for wealth potential and prestige as set as priorities by Mr. Ruiz. If Matthias were really that kind of asshole then he wouldn’t have lasted more than a few days in their circle of friends. He had tried it his father’s way for a few years now and was clearly miserable. 

“May I propose a new plan, then?” he says as the idea comes to him. “Go with him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rivette doesn't explicitly identify as gay in the movie, but he doesn’t flinch when that's an insult that Erika opts to use against him. Frank, in the lake, also implies that Marc is gay. The way that Max makes clear that there’s nothing wrong with guys kissing is the main tell, though, for me. It's him knowing that one of their group is out & always supporting his friends & Rivette is portrayed as the most likely gay one. The turtlenecks alone are a clue.


End file.
